The Lies We Tell (2)


At 16, I obviously knew everything.

The lies that I told were usually to intentionally create the kind of Beverly-Hills-90210-Dawson’s-Creek-esque drama that I kept vigil over each school night instead of studying for world history. I became this theatrically foolish teenager as my relationship with my very first long-term boyfriend, Brad, progressed.

Lucky him.

Thankfully this phase only lasted about a year, but there were plenty of characters whom I involved in my web during that time. Good people. Innocent people. When I think of my behavior during that time in my life, I get sick to my stomach.

I cheated.

When I tried to lie my way out of it, a web of deceit began to grow. Before I knew it this web had entangled me, got twisted in my hair, and caught in my mouth.

spider web

It tasted like tinfoil, and the flavor was that of treachery. When I allow the synapse of my brain to meander through these recollections from my teenage years, I taste the cold aluminum and feel as though I’m being zapped in a shamefully purgatory-like episode.

Unfortunately, the web ensnared others as well, Brad of course being a large fraction.

Normalcy came with time, with realization of my own worth, with amazing friends, with supportive family.

I can only speak from my perspective, because I never asked, but it seemed that everyone was okay. Quite a bit more okay than me, but I’ll never know for sure. Because I never asked.

In his yearbook just before graduation, I quoted Janice Joplin:

“I’d trade all of my tomorrows/ For one single yesterday…”

When Brad read it, he looked at me quizzically, like a sudden deformity had developed on my head. “Why? That doesn’t make any sense.” Then he closed the book and walked away.

His reaction was well deserved.

In Retrospect, I’m a Moron


TheySeeing things in retrospect say hindsight is 20/20. Looking at things “in retrospect” is never good for the psyche…

I just had such a typical reaction. As with so many in the situation, I blamed myself. If there’s one thinIn Retrospectg I hate, however, it’s being so regular.

When our ninth Valentine’s Day together rolled around, I received no mention, no card, no delivery of over-priced bouquets and chocolates sent to the door. That isn’t to say that couples who don’t celebrate the day are destined for relationship trouble- we just always HAD.

Sappiness is a quality that runs deeply through my veins.

I could sense that there was something awry. As the days went on, I bought pseudo-informative literature on being a better wife to peruse on my kindle, and put some of the ideas into practice. Telling myself I was crazy, and that nothing was wrong, we went back to our lives as normal: me taking care of the kids, him taking care of the bills.

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The Lies We Tell

I’ve been lied to and I’ve told lies. Tiny lies. Big lies. Lies that society deems “acceptable.” Lies that hurt others. Helpful lies. Where is that line though? How does one determine what lies are admissible, which are horrific?

the lies we tell

I was the tender age of 12 when I devised a plan, a web of lies that involved several others, to get out of a lie. When six of the school’s library books went missing, my teacher was furious. Mrs. Graves had wheeled a selection of informative non-fiction pertaining to our reports on Ancient Egypt into the classroom, and allowed us to take them home “on the honor code.” Though we didn’t formally check them out, she expected their timely return. When the time came, she asked the students in the class to kindly return the items to the library.

Over the next few days, which turned into well over a week, and creeped up to a month, she supposedly asked, but my priorities, as per the norm, were outside among the birds and trees, my head in the clouds.

In a final attempt to get the stolen books back to the library, Mrs. Graves resorted to a bribe. “Any student who brings in a missing book will receive a candy bar in exchange.

This caught my attention.

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